


Drastic Measures

by ryfkah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A postcard from Fuery causes perhaps more alarm than was intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drastic Measures

_Dear Colonel, 1st lieutenant, 2nd lieutenant, and Black Hayate_

 _I hope all is well in East City. Falman was right - it is actually surprisingly beautiful up in Briggs. (He was also right that I should make sure to bring extra sweaters!) My trip up was very easy and everyone here has been very welcoming. They are doing some fascinating work with long-distance radio transmission up here – did you know that Major General Armstrong has a keen interest in communications technology? It’s very refreshing to find that kind of scientific attention among the upper staff!_

At this point, Breda has to stop reading, because he is too busy laughing. “Oh, she’s got him, sir,” he wheezes. “She’s got him _good_.”

Mustang’s scowl has been intensifying with each new sentence read. It now is looking rather like he’s trying to set the postcard on fire with his eyes – which admittedly is not so far-fetched, given the givens. “Well? Keep reading!”

Breda valiantly attempts to stifle his guffaws, but apparently it is all too much for him. Finally he just waves his hand in a weak gesture of defeat and shoves the postcard towards Hawkeye.

Hawkeye takes the card serenely – it has a cheery photo of a snowman with a Briggs jacket and a mullet made of straw on the back – and reads out, “ _I will be sorry to leave my projects here when my vacation is over. I suppose I shouldn’t really call them my projects – they were all things that Major General Armstrong has been developing for some time – but I think I have been of at least a little help in moving some of them along, and Major General Armstrong has kindly said that –_ ”

“Hawkeye!” Mustang interrupts, holding out his hand imperiously. “I need a picture of your dog.”

“What?” says Hawkeye, setting down Fuery’s note. (Breda looks like he wants to echo the question, but, as he is still wheezing faintly, decides it is not worth the effort.)

“A picture of your dog. The saddest, biggest-eyed picture of him you can find to turn into a postcard. I am _not_ ,” Mustang says, grim determination in his voice, “losing any more men to Briggs!”


End file.
